


Revas Sahlin (Freedom is Come)

by Mochapup12



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Post-Kirkwall, and fluff, and how to bond with people, and learning to deal with emotions, fenris accidentally becomes the leader of a small army, found family trope, leader fenris, sorry - Freeform, technically fenhawke but they're apart for most of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochapup12/pseuds/Mochapup12
Summary: Once Hawke left for Skyhold, Fenris decided that tracking down slavers was the best way to keep himself busy enough to fill the void he left behind.  That had been the original plan, at least - wander the countryside and kill every last one he could find. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised when things didn't quite go as intended. To be completely fair, he had never really been the type that inspired people to rally around him.Fenris-centric AU set during Inquisition where Fenris finds camaraderie, growth, and family where he least expects it.  He might also have inadvertently created a small army of rebels.  He's still not sure how that happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric tells a story.

The great fortress of Skyhold bustled with its usual activity, messengers sprinting back and forth through courtyards and passageways to deliver their latest reports while ravens spiraled in and out of high tower windows.  Conversations, both hushed and raucous, echoed in every corner of the grounds. Patrols and trainees marched through the courtyards, hammers rang on anvils, merchants shouted the prices of their wares, and a stiff mountain breeze that brought the smell of snow whistled through stone walls.  Everything was back to running smoothly, and Inquisitor Eilani Lavellen had a hint of pride in the set of her shoulders as she strode through the great hall.

“Oh, Firefly, I wanted to talk to you.  Got a minute?” She looked up at the question, momentarily distracted from the stack of papers in her hands, and smiled when she caught sight of Varric off to one side of the hall.  Only too eager for a distraction, she moved to join him.

 

“For you, always.” she said playfully, earning a laugh from him.

 

“Ah, see, no one can resist the dwarf.” he replied with a wink.  She grinned, leaning against the wall next to him.

 

“So what do you need?” she asked.  Varric sighed.

 

“Well, okay.  So I know you’ve heard all of the stories about Hawke and his companions - and don’t pretend you haven’t to try to wring them out of me, you admitted you’ve read my book - and you know that we were all pretty close, and that we still keep in touch.”  Eilani nodded, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her pointed ear. “Alright. Well, I’ve been writing letters to everyone, trying to keep them all updated especially now that Hawke is here with us. They all wanted to know how things were here, wanted to make sure Hawke and I were still alive.  And uh, some of them may be a little… put off by some of the stories coming out of Adamant.”

 

At the mention of Adamant, Eilani tensed up, her easy smile melting off of her face.  It had been nearly a month since they had escaped from the fade, and only a couple of weeks since they had made it back to Skyhold.  The Inquisition was still recovering, and the memories of everything that had happened both during and after the fighting were still fresh enough to be raw.

 

“Understandable.  What have they heard?” she asked.  Varric hesitated before answering.

 

“Apparently the rumors out there are crazy.  No one can make any sense of what happened and everyone has a different version of how it went down.  Some people say that you single-handedly pulled everyone out of a rift, and some are saying that you and everyone else died in the fade.  Evidently, someone’s even spreading rumors that you personally faced down that archdemon dragon and bested it in single combat.” he said. Eilani let out a snort of laughter.

 

“Wouldn’t that have been nice.  It was all I could do to keep that thing from killing any of us.  But what’s this really about, Varric? I’m sure you didn’t call me over here for the latest gossip about me and what people think I’m capable of.”

 

“Ah, come on, can’t I just enjoy a conversation with a friend?  Wildly exaggerated stories are my specialty, after all.” he said.  He was met with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving stare, and sighed again before continuing.

 

“Okay, so a lot of the rumors flying around are giving mixed information on who exactly survived Adamant.  Specifically, no one seems to know for sure whether or not Hawke made it out of the fade with you. Certain people are not happy about this, even though I’ve written them letters explaining that we lost Stroud, but Hawke is fine, it wasn’t even like he went charging headfirst into danger like he usually does-”

 

“Varric.”  Eilani cut him off.  “Spit it out. What are you getting at here?”  Varric put up his hands in mock surrender.

 

“Fine, long story short, Fenris is upset about all of the rumors that he’s hearing about what may or may not have happened to Hawke and he’s planning on coming here to get answers from the man himself before he leaves for Weisshaupt.” he said.  Eilani stared at him in confusion.

 

“Wait, is that it?  The way you were carrying on, I thought you were going to tell me we were about to be attacked.” she said.

 

“Well, depending on your point of view, it might seem like we are.  Fenris isn’t a bad person, but he tends to get a little ahead of himself where Hawke is involved - or, well, all of the time, actually.  The two of them together are practically a force of nature, and they’ve been known to take pretty drastic measures when they think the other might be in any danger.  He was against Hawke coming to the Inquisition in the first place, and now he feels like it was justified.” Varric explained.

 

“So, what, you’re afraid that Fenris is going to make a scene in the courtyard?  I don’t know him personally, but from what I’ve heard he doesn’t seem the type.” Eilani said, an undercurrent of amusement in her voice.  Varric chuckled, shaking his head.

 

“Not exactly.  I’m more worried about Hawke - I doubt Fenris would start anything in public, but you can bet our champion is going to get the scolding of a lifetime as soon as they’re alone.  But that’s also not exactly the whole story. If Fenris was coming alone, that would be one thing…” he trailed off, and Eilani frowned.

 

“He’s not?” she asked.  “From what you’ve said, I assumed he was travelling alone.  Who would he be bringing?” Varric looked away from her.

 

“You know what, it’s… kind of a long story.  Why don’t you go finish up with whatever you were doing before I dragged you away from it and then come meet me at the tavern?  I’ll explain everything.” he said.

 

“Are you buying drinks?” she asked, a grin playing at the corners of her lips.

 

“You’re going to drink me into the poorhouse, you know,”  he said, returning the smile. “Besides, if I’m providing the entertainment, shouldn’t you be buying?”  Eilani only laughed, waving over her shoulder as she walked away.

 

“I’ll meet you there in an hour.  I knew I could get a story out of you tonight!”

  
  


~

  
  


The sun was nearly gone, evening settling into dusk when Eilani pushed open the door of the Herald’s Rest.  She was met with a wave of light and warmth, laughter and music spilling cheerfully past her into the coming night.  An unconscious smile tugged at her lips, the stresses of the day melting as she watched the familiar faces of the people of Skyhold - her people - alight with joy and revelry.  There had been precious few moments like this recently, what with the constant weight of the threat that Corypheus posed and the lives that had already been lost attempting to defeat him.

 

She made her way into the tavern, spotting Varric at a table in the corner.  Quite a few patrons seemed intent on greeting their Inquisitor and accosted her as she went by, insisting that she stop and drink with them; she refused, politely but firmly excusing herself until she finally reached him.  Dropping unceremoniously into her seat, she sighed, leaning back with her eyes closed as Varric laughed and slid over a mug of ale.

 

“You’re late.  Rough day?” he asked, grinning at her.  She shook her head, reaching for the drink.

 

“You have no idea.  Josephine roped me into going over the contracts she’s drafting for that deal with the Rivaini prince - apparently, he has a tendency to exploit even the smallest loopholes.  Why she thinks that I’d be capable of catching any mistakes that she wouldn’t have already seen is beyond me.” she said, taking a large gulp from the mug.

 

“Yeah, no offense, but you’re not exactly the most politically-minded person I’ve ever met.”  Varric replied. Eilani shrugged.

 

“Really, I don’t know what she was expecting from me.  I’m Dalish, it’s not like I have experience dealing with the petty squabbling of human nobility.”

 

“Are you telling me that elves never try to deceive each other?  Because I know that’s a lie.” Eilani laughed at that.

 

“No, we do, we just don’t make a sport out of it the way these foreign nobles seem to.  Politics aren’t really a huge focus when you’re outcasts in the eyes of most modern society and live as wandering nomads.” she said.

 

“That’s a fair point.”  Varric said with a chuckle.  Eilani took another drink before turning to him.

 

“So, I was promised a story.  What’s the huge mystery behind Fenris?” she asked.

 

“Oh, Firefly, that’s a loaded question with answers that even I don’t know.  The man is a walking enigma. But in this case, I do have most of the details.  It’s taken a while to piece together exactly how everything happened from rumors and the very inconsistent letters he sends, but if you’ve got the time, it’s a pretty good tale.  Involves some of your people, too.” he answered. Eilani stared at him, the look in her green eyes suddenly sharper.

 

“Do you mean Dalish?” she asked.  Varric nodded, taking a sip from his own mug.  “Not that I wasn’t already interested, but I thought that Fenris didn’t have anything to do with the Dalish.  He’s from Tevinter, right?”

 

“Yeah, he is.  Like I said, it’s a long story.  I’ll do my best to do it justice - I think I’ve got the whole thing right.”

 

“Varric, when have you ever been concerned with truthful details?  You thrive off of the ‘embellishments’ you add to all of your stories.”  Eilani said, a smile tugging at her lips. Varric laughed.

 

“Hey now, Firefly, this is important.  These are all people that might be on our doorstep sometime in the next few weeks.  I don’t want to be held responsible for spreading false information.”

 

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

 

“Do you want me to tell you the story or not?”  he asked, a grin counteracting the exasperation in his tone.  Eilani snickered into her mug, taking another sip before replying.

 

“Well, go on then.  Regale me.” she said finally.  Varric shook his head.

 

“All right then.  It all started about five months ago, when Hawke and Fenris first had to separate.  Neither of them were happy about it, but they knew that they had to. It turned out for the best - but I don’t think that anyone could have known where it would lead.”

  
  


~

  
  


(Five months earlier)

Fenris almost turned back as he walked out the door of the tiny cabin.  He found himself pausing, hand on the door frame, keeping his eyes on the horizon in the foothills down below so that he didn’t look back.  Even though he knew that Hawke was no longer there, he couldn’t help half expecting to hear him call him back inside. The small fireplace would be glowing, crackling with warmth, and Hawke’s face would be soft and golden with its light, bright blue eyes twinkling with love and mischief and an easy smile on his lips-

 

Fenris shook his head.  He should have known better, really.  Those several months hidden up here in a glorified shack in the mountains had always been far too idyllic to last.  For once, he and Hawke had been alone and reasonably safe, no one to fight, no one to run from, no one to stop them.  He should have known that it would never last.

 

Hawke was halfway to the new Inquisition stronghold by now.  Skyhold, they called it, apparently an impressive fortress fit for a growing army.  It was nearly a week’s ride from their cabin, even with a fast horse. Fenris couldn’t help but wish that Varric’s letter asking Hawke for help had never reached them.  But then, there were a great many things from the past several years that he wished had never happened. It wasn’t doing him any favors to dwell on it.

 

Resisting the urge to look back one last time, Fenris stepped over the threshold.  He already knew what he would see. The fire was nothing but ashes now, cold for hours.  All of the warmth and comfort and even safety that had seeped into every corner, every gap of their little house and made Fenris feel like he was home for once in his life had faded out, shadows and a pervasive loneliness creeping in to take its place the moment that Hawke had left.  It almost frightened him to realize how much he had come to depend on Hawke being with him. To have him no longer there after all these years felt like Fenris had suddenly lost a limb, like an inextricable part of himself had been torn away, and he was reeling with it.

 

They had agreed shortly before Hawke left that Fenris likely wouldn’t stay in the cabin.  As remote as they were, people did pass by once in a while. Hunters, mainly, but with all of the chaos and no guarantee that no one was still looking for them, Hawke had been worried that he would come back to find Fenris dead or captured.  Fenris had assured him that he would be fine, but said that he had been planning on leaving anyway - as freeing as it had been to leave politics and fighting behind them for a while, he had started to feel restless, especially when rumors reached them of Tevinter presence in the south.  A cult, evidently, called the Venatori. Of course, the slavers had followed, preying indiscriminately on refugees from various conflicts.

 

If Hawke was leaving, he figured that there was no point in staying holed up in the mountains when he could be killing slavers.  He had considered using the cabin as a base of operations, but it wasn’t worth it - it was too remote, and he could be tracked back to it.  He would have to get used to staying on the move for a while.

 

Fenris let the door swing shut behind him as he left, starting down the mountainside and pretending that it didn’t hurt to walk away.  The day was clear, a slight breeze rustling through the trees and hardly a cloud in the sky. It was almost peaceful, though he knew that the further he went, the more chaos he was likely to see.  The fighting between mages and templars had slowed once the Inquisition had stepped in, but that didn’t mean that it was over. That, combined with the usual bandits, wolves, and other dangers would make for a perilous journey as he traveled to the Crossroads in search of supplies and information.  It would take at least a day to reach the town, perhaps more. With a slight sigh, he quickened his pace and set off through the forest, hoping that he could make it before nightfall.

  
  


~

  
  


The sun was sinking behind the mountains when Fenris first caught sight of the Crossroads.  It was comprised of a handful of buildings nestled in a low valley, nothing more than a village that had built up along trade routes.  The large white statue of Tyrdda Bright-Axe built into the hillside gleamed distantly in the last rays of light, shadows creeping up along her outstretched arm.  The little town had certainly seen better days, but despite the worn-down buildings and the refugees camped by the roads, he could still hear laughter from the square.  Fereldans, he had come to learn, were not a people easily broken.

 

Just as he was about to reach the crest of the last hill before the road, he heard a faint rustle from somewhere behind him.  It was slight enough that it could have been nothing more than the breeze through the bushes, but his vigilance was the only reason that he hadn’t died a long time ago.  His hand drifted towards his back, reaching for the familiar molded grip of his sword. For a moment, there was nothing. Just the fluttering of leaves, the distant scurrying of woodland creatures and then - a footfall, muffled by the soft leaf litter that covered the forest floor, so quiet that he almost missed it.

 

In one smooth motion, Fenris dropped his pack, unsheathed his sword, and spun around to face the sound as his lyrium lines flared to life.  He was met with the wide, terrified eyes of a boy who couldn’t be older than fifteen, holding a rusty dagger with a blunt edge. Immediately, the boy dropped the weapon with an undignified squeak and threw his hands up, staring at the point of Fenris’ sword, inches from his face.  Clearly, this was no trained soldier.

 

“Who are you?”  Fenris demanded, voice hoarse with disuse.  The boy shook his head rapidly, backing away until his shoulders hit the trunk of a tree.

 

“P-please sir, I-I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear, I just-” he stammered, shaking.  Fenris held the sword just shy of touching his throat, glaring down the blade at him. The boy pressed himself back against the tree with a slight gasp.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I-I saw your pack, that’s high quality leather, that is. I just - my family is starving, there’s been hardly any food in town for days and what little is left is rationed for the sick, but my little sister is hardly more than bones now and I know Father hasn’t eaten for longer than either of us.  Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you, not really!”

 

“So you were going to try to steal from me, then.”  Fenris said. He resisted the urge to comment on the wisdom of attempting to steal from a fully-grown warrior with a broadsword strapped to his back, using only a glorified toothpick for protection.  The lyrium glow began to fade as the realization that this boy was hardly a threat set in. Brilliant blue dimmed until it was nothing but pale scar tissue again, and the boy stared at the lines along Fenris’ arms in blatant shock.

 

“I-I’m sorry, sir, really I am.  I’m not a criminal, I swear, I just had to try to do something! If I’d known you had magic, I would’ve never attacked you.” he said.  Fenris felt a flicker of irritation at the assumption, but it wasn’t as though he could really blame the boy - what else would someone think when faced with a sight like his lyrium brands?

 

“In the future, if you’re going to steal from someone, try doing so with a better weapon and far more confidence.  I would advise against picking heavily armed targets. At the very least, sharpen your dagger.” Fenris said, stepping away from him and sliding his sword back into its sheath.  The boy gaped at him, standing frozen for a moment like he couldn’t believe that Fenris wasn’t going to kill him.

 

“I… What?” he said, looking nothing short of baffled.  Fenris gestured back towards the town.

 

“Go home.  Your family is waiting for you.  But a word of caution: be more careful if you plan to do something like this again.  If you have no other choice, then far be it for me to attempt to dissuade you. War makes thieves of us all, but you have people depending on you.  Think about what would happen to them when you fail to come home if your next target is less lenient.” he told him. The boy blinked at him, then nodded slowly as he peeled himself away from the tree.

 

“O-of course.  I’m… thank you.  I’m sorry, again. Thank you!” he stuttered, stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.  Snatching his dagger up off the ground, he took off in the direction of the Crossroads, leaving Fenris to stare after him for a moment before picking up his pack and following slowly behind.

 

It wasn’t far to the road from there, and few other people were nearby as he emerged from the trees and stepped out onto the hard-packed earth.  It was smooth under his feet, worn down by the firm boots and wagon wheels of all those that had come before him. The occasional travelers that passed him as he made his way towards the town gave him odd looks, but it was hardly anything that he wasn’t used to.  A lone elf, with intricate armor and incredibly strange scars? Even people in Kirkwall had stared, and they’d had years to get used to his presence - though to be fair, he had been something of a ghost in the city. He hadn’t often travelled alone, so a good deal of the attention had probably been by virtue of associating with Hawke anyway.  Regardless, he’d spent much of his life being stared at with that same mix of curiosity, fear, and sometimes revulsion. The last was almost always from humans. The ones that already despised elves needed no extra incentive to make their feelings clear, but when one looked as unusual as Fenris himself did, it certainly did nothing to help matters.

 

The last of the sun’s light was just fading from the tip of the statue’s fingers when he made it into the town.  In the main square, people were slowly beginning to disperse as shadows gathered in every corner, spreading into the gloom of twilight.  There were few merchants about, as most trade had been cut off by the mage-templar war and now all of the conflict stemming from the breach.  One or two remained open, though they were beginning to pack up their most expensive wares for the night.

 

Fenris made his way over to a rickety wooden stall run by a portly human man with a kind, open expression and a head of wild brown curls.  The merchant smiled at him as he approached, an easy, genuine thing. He nodded in return - as much as he appreciated the occasional kindness of strangers, he knew better than to trust that every friendly face was as courteous as they appeared.  The man didn’t seem to be discouraged.

 

“Hello there my friend, you’re out a bit late, aren’t you?  Not to worry though, not to worry. I’m still open, so long as there are people with coin about.” he said, laughter in his tone.  Fenris stopped just short of the counter and peered at the goods that were displayed - weapons, mostly, with a few odd pieces of armor and various trinkets as well.  “What can I get for you today?”

 

“I’ll take whatever food you have, enough for at least several days’ journey,” Fenris said, pulling a small coin purse out of his pack - Hawke had left more than enough behind.  “Though I’d mostly like some information, if you have any.” At that, the merchant paused and looked at him more closely, taking in the armor, the broadsword, and the markings, visible even in the half-light.  Fenris tensed slightly, but the merchant seemed to decide against asking any questions.

 

“Well, unlike some, I tend not to deal in secrets.  But one does hear plenty of rumors in a place like this.  Ask away, and I’ll tell you what I can.” he said, examining the coins that Fenris had placed on the counter.  He reached behind him for several pieces of dried meat from a display, wrapping them in a thin cloth as Fenris considered how to phrase his questions without drawing any unnecessary attention.

 

“There are many refugees here.  They do not seem to be doing particularly well, but are they at least safe?  I have heard rumors of people looking to take advantage of the chaos, slavers from Tevinter abducting those fleeing the fighting.” he said.  The merchant sighed, adding a few shrunken-looking apples to the small pile of rations on the counter.

 

“I’m afraid that you heard right.  We’ve been safe enough here in town - ever since the Inquisition stepped in, neither them nor the blasted apostates and templars have dared to bully their way in here.  They leave us alone, mostly. But I’ve certainly heard tell of them ‘Vints trying to nab people off the roads and drag them back up north. Or out to the west, if you believe the rumors about the bloody Venatori gathering their forces and all of their slaves out there.” he explained.  Fenris frowned at him.

 

“What do you mean, ‘out west?’” he asked.  The merchant shook his head.

 

“Rumor has it the desert out in western Orlais is crawling with them.  I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but apparently the Inquisition has been trying to shut them down.  Still plenty of the bastards harassing people back here in the east, though. As if these people don’t have enough to worry about.”

 

“Do you know where the worst areas are nearby?”  Fenris asked.

 

“Not for sure, most of what I’ve heard is just word of mouth.  But if I were you I’d avoid the northern road out of town. Apparently there’ve been ambushes set up a few miles on,” he replied, handing Fenris a small cloth bundle filled with food.  “That’ll be fifty-three silvers. Apologies for the high price, but trade is all but at a standstill here. I can’t get anything new in for at least a couple more weeks.” He seemed genuinely sorry, and Fenris handed the coin over without comment.  It was one thing to take advantage of people during hard times, but quite another to simply try to keep one’s livelihood afloat.

 

He bid the merchant goodbye after tucking the little package of food into the bottom of his pack, starting off to the north in the growing darkness.  Some small part of him wondered idly if the merchant saw the path he was taking, and if he would mention to anyone the strange elf that had walked off in the exact direction of danger while night was falling.  It had been so long since Kirkwall that he didn’t think anyone was still after him or any of the others, but he still preferred not to have his description on the lips of everyone in Ferelden. Keeping a low profile was never a bad thing.

 

No one seemed to notice as he slipped out of town again, footsteps almost silent on the road.  He didn’t intend to go far, but he knew he would feel safer camping alone in the wilderness than he would anywhere in town.  Tracking down the slavers themselves could wait until morning. He didn’t know much about the area, but he vaguely recalled walking the road with Hawke once - there was a section with rocky cliffs on either side and plenty of places to hide, if he remembered correctly.

 

He did, as it turned out.  When the gentle slopes gave way to unforgiving stone, he climbed up over a low cliff on the side of the road, settling into a small hollow under an outcropping that gave him a vantage point of everything in the surrounding area.  He didn’t dare risk a fire, in case the slavers were closer than the merchant had thought. Instead, he ate one of the apples and a bit of hard bread, keeping a watchful eye on the road until exhaustion tugged at his mind. As he curled up in shadows, his last thought was how similar this felt to the days when he was on the run from Danarius’s bounty hunters.  How easy it was to slip back into the mindset of someone on the run, he thought bitterly. But this was worth it. It had to be. Without Hawke, he wasn’t sure where he belonged. It frustrated him to realize how dependant he had become on Hawke, but with him gone, Fenris had to create his own purpose. If that meant doing everything he could to save innocents from being condemned to the same life he’d fled from, then so be it.  And if he got the satisfaction of killing slavers in the process, well. That was just an advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, thanks for reading! i was going to wait a little longer to post this until i had at least finished the second chapter, but my impulsive tendencies and desperate need for instant gratification won again. a thousand thanks to my wonderful beta @knightriley on tumblr for putting up with me stressing endlessly about the tiniest details. hopefully i'll be able to update fairly often, but i can't make any promises - you can keep up with any progress over on my dragon age blog at shadow-kid-cole on tumblr. i hope you all enjoyed, and are as excited to see fenris grow as a character as i am to write it. see y'all soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris starts a fight he's not sure he can win.

Fenris woke shortly after dawn to the sound of a bird chirping from entirely too close by. It took him only a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing; still, for just a second, his sleep-numbed mind had him reaching blindly out beside him for Hawke. A pang of fear echoed through his chest when he encountered nothing but empty air. That was all it took to jolt him fully awake, sitting up abruptly and staring around before realization crashed back down over him in an icy wave. The bird let out a shrill cry and took off in a flutter of panicked feathers at the movement. He watched it go, allowing his heartbeat a moment to settle and ignoring the sudden tightness in his throat that had nothing to do with the shock of being startled awake.

The sun was fully over the horizon already, painting the countryside in pale gold. It was warmer today, he noted absently. He stretched briefly, taking some small pleasure in the sunlight as it coaxed the last of the drowsiness out of his limbs.

Fenris took a moment to move to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the dusty road before turning back to buckle his sheath and pack back into place. There was no one in sight - not yet, at least. Maybe travelers knew to avoid the area. He would have to stay off the road after a while; there was no sense in letting the slavers know that he was there until he knew how many of them there were.

He made his way back down the cliff, managing not to dislodge any loose rocks and dropping noiselessly to the ground. The road was warm beneath his feet, and little clouds of dust arose with every step he took. It had been a while since the last rain, he thought to himself. Everything was dry, the forests turning yellow and brown prematurely under the constant, withering sunlight. It was a wonder that he hadn’t heard of any fires nearby.

Eventually, the stony cliffs gave way again to rolling hills and trees. He hadn’t gone far - by his guess, he was maybe a mile and a half outside of town, but the risk increased the longer he stayed on the road. He still hadn’t seen any travelers, so the slavers may have been closer than he’d thought. Stepping off of the path, he made his way into the cover of the trees, grass cool under his feet. He would have to stay hidden for now.

 

~ 

 

As it turned out, it was surprisingly easy to find the slavers. They certainly weren’t making an effort to hide, with a small camp off the side of the road another mile down. Smoke rose from a fire surrounded by tents and wagons, and they had blocked off the path just around a turn. He had seen this setup before - anyone coming around the bend would walk right into a trap, and they likely had another group waiting a bit further back in case any tried to run. From the cover of the trees, he could see three of them milling around by the barricade and one sitting by the fire. He was certain that he would be able to handle all of them, but he still stopped to observe for a while - he didn’t want to be caught off guard by any reinforcements.

His suspicions were confirmed when another group of them came walking down the road a few minutes later. There were only three, but they were all heavily armed enough to make any ordinary warrior reconsider. Luckily, Fenris was not an ordinary warrior.

He crept closer to the camp, keeping to the shadows until he was close enough to hear snatches of conversation. Listening for a few minutes proved that they were saying nothing of consequence, and something about the familiarity of the heavy Tevene accents made his blood boil. He had waited long enough. 

Fenris leapt out from behind a tent as his markings blazed to life. There were shouts from the men as he lunged towards the one by the fire, his sword slicing easily through the back of his neck and coming out dripping red. The man collapsed, magic sparking and dying in his hands as Fenris whirled towards the rest of them, dodging a blow from a huge maul and striking at its owner, slashing open his shoulder and spinning to parry another strike. Snarling, he let the power buzzing through his skin take over, leaping into the man with the maul as he became incorporeal. There were several seconds of horrified confusion from the others, and he allowed himself to solidify again, feeling the slaver’s body tear apart around him in a shower of blood.

After that, it was easy to take down the rest. He took full advantage of their hesitation and fear after such a display, cutting them down without half trying. As he advanced on the last one, the man dropped his sword and held up his hands.

“Wait, don’t kill me! Please, I can give you information! That’s what you’re after, right? Other hunters? I can tell you where the other camps are, and the caravan!” he pleaded. Fenris glared at him, holding the side of his sword steady against the man’s neck.

“What do you know?” he growled.

“T-there’s another camp a few miles to the southeast, down in the valley. One’s up on the road to those farms on the other side of the mountains, and there’s a whole caravan full of fresh blood going there, due within the week to pick up more before they head back north. It should still be nearby, they stopped here yesterday,” he stammered. Fenris pressed the edge of the blade a little harder into the skin.

“What else?” he demanded. The man shook his head.

“I don’t know anything else! That’s all I’ve got, that and the orders we got to start packing up to move out to the west to help with the operation there, but I don’t know what they’re planning, I swear it! Please, just let me go,” he said. Fenris didn’t answer, just pulled the blade away enough to swing it back down with enough force to take the man’s head off. The dull thud when it hit the ground wasn’t quite as satisfying as he’d hoped, but it was enough.

A caravan. That meant that they had caught enough to warrant sending them back to Tevinter. It would also be his best chance to do some real damage to their forces; if he could destroy an entire caravan’s worth of slavers, their presence in the area would be far harder to maintain and would likely leave them spread too thin. That would make it much easier to pick off the rest. Taking on an entire caravan alone, however, could prove difficult, even for him.

He would have to scout it out before he attacked, but before anything else he still had to catch up with them. Caravans were always slow, but if they had that much of a head start… It would be easier if he had a horse, but going back into town to try to find one would only waste more time. He’d never liked horses much anyway. On foot it was then, but he would have to move quickly and make sure not to stop for too long.

Walking back through the camp, Fenris took whatever supplies he could find, including quite a bit of gold off of the mage that he’d killed first. He must have been the leader. Lying abandoned on the ground next to him was a neatly penned letter and a map; both were spattered with blood. It took Fenris longer than he would have liked to read through what turned out to be orders - whoever had written them had curling handwriting that seemed designed to make his head spin. He had come a long way since Hawke had first started to teach him to read back in Kirkwall, but it still wasn’t always easy.

The orders matched what the slaver he’d interrogated had told him. This group had been supposed to leave in two days, whether or not they caught anyone new, to go west into Orlais. The letter was signed with only an L; he supposed that it must have been the initial of a superior.

Perhaps whoever was in charge had decided to take advantage of the civil war? Raiding a war-torn countryside with no one to protect the little villages there would be exactly the sort of thing the Imperium would do. But the merchant had said that they were gathering in the desert. There must have been something that they were after there - from what he knew of it, the area was practically empty save for hostile wildlife and crumbling ruins.

Either way, it wasn’t important now. He grabbed whatever he could find that could be useful and pulled the wagons out of the barricade, clearing the road again. According to the map, the fastest way to the camp that the caravan was en route to was to go back through the Crossroads and follow the road northwest. It seemed that was the path they were taking, with a slight detour to avoid the town. Maybe it would be faster to simply cut through the mountains; the road would take him in that direction, but he would have to leave it again eventually. He sighed, looking over the forest to where the distant blue peaks stood. Without a marked path, it might slow him down more than it was worth, but he didn’t have a choice. As slow as the caravan was likely to be, there was no guarantee that he would be able to catch up. The mountains could give him the chance to arrive first and stage an ambush. At least he was a decent climber.

 

~

It took Fenris three days to cross the mountains. They weren’t particularly high, but the wild witchwood that covered them had offered its fair share of difficulty. From paths that seemed to wind back on themselves to dense undergrowth to the groups of mages that seemed to have taken over the area, there were many reasons that the journey had taken longer than he would have liked, though he supposed it didn’t matter so long as he’d arrived first. When he had finally made it to the camp, it had been full of activity; they were likely preparing for the caravan’s arrival. There were far more of them here than in the last one, and he’d managed to slip away unseen until he could set up in a spot far enough away that the camp wouldn’t be able to join the fight. They could wait until after the caravan had been dealt with - he was certain that fighting both at the same time would exceed the limits of his capabilities.

This brought him to where he was now, crouched on a cliff overlooking the road as the first wagons rolled around a bend. They were led by several soldiers on horseback, a cruel-looking woman with two shortswords strapped across her back at the head. He pressed himself lower into the grass at the clifftop. He had to wait for the right moment, but he could already feel a vicious sort of anticipation. He’d seen the return of countless caravans just like this in Tevinter; the largest were often paraded through the streets of Minrathous like some gruesome, twisted circus. They had always seemed excessive to him, and seeing one now had contempt rising like bile in his throat.

He waited until he could see the last of the wagons in the distance, flanked by more guards on horseback. Men on foot guarded each cart, but they didn’t seem to be seasoned soldiers; they were young, and they kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. Hired boys, most likely. Reaching carefully for his own sword, Fenris crept closer to the edge. Sizing up the caravan, he had a moment of doubt; there were a great many more of them than there were of him, no matter how untrained they were. But as long as he could time this right, their numbers wouldn’t matter. As the final wagon rumbled past him, he made his move.

Shouts went up from the caravan as Fenris dropped to the ground. Markings flaring to life, he pulled his sword from its sheath and swept it threateningly forward. The first guard to approach him hesitated for only a second, fear flashing across his face, along with - recognition?

Well. Perhaps the tale of Danarius’s fate at the hands of his ‘pet’ had spread further than he’d thought it would, rather than being covered up by a hastily constructed lie.

He could use that.

He allowed a grin to crawl over his face, slow and deliberate, and the man took a step back. The tip of his sword dropped towards the ground, guard forgotten amid fear - and that was exactly the opening Fenris needed.

He sprang into action, lunging towards the guard and swinging his sword down through his shoulder. The man collapsed, and blood ran over the dusty earth in rivulets of crimson. Fenris turned to face three more guards that had come running to see what all the commotion was, sword dripping into the dirt and the audible hum of active lyrium crackling in the air around him. The newcomers seemed slightly less cowardly than their fallen friend, but none of them jumped at the chance to be the first to face him either. He raised an eyebrow at them, a hint of amusement in the curve of his lips and a challenge in his eyes.

One of them, a young man with a scar curving over his jaw, took the bait. He yelled as he ran towards Fenris, but he was entirely too slow to be truly intimidating; Fenris thrust out a hand and shoved it directly into the man’s chest. He stopped abruptly, shuddering as Fenris allowed his fist to solidify again, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he fell away with a hand-sized hole just below his collarbone.

Fenris shook some of the gore from his fingers and gripped the handle of his sword, charging towards the remaining two guards as they scrambled to recover from the shock. One brought his sword up just in time to block the brunt of an arcing blow, but the other wasn’t so lucky; Fenris caught him across the stomach, tearing easily through battered leather armor. The last guard seemed to realize that he was outmatched without backup. There was fear in his eyes, but he managed to put up enough of a fight that Fenris had to block several attacks before simply shoving a hand through his head.

The whistle of steel through the air was the only warning that he had before a shortsword sliced just past his neck, so close that he could feel its movement. He whirled around, pulling his hand free and slashing at the owner of the sword - it was the woman from the front. Her eyes were cold and vicious in a sharp face, and her swords gleamed wickedly in the sunlight. She sidestepped easily, and Fenris glanced around warily as more guards ran up to flank her. There were more than he’d thought, and most of these were clearly no stranger to battle. Perhaps he had underestimated this after all.

He stepped back, growling out a half-remembered threat in Tevene while trying to reevaluate. He needed time, but he was far from likely to get it. They were starting to close in on him, trying to keep him surrounded; he spun around and put all of his weight behind a wide arc of his sword. The guards nearest to him scattered, some caught by the blow, but none went down. Fenris didn’t waste any time racing past them and ducking away through the wagons.

What he really needed was help. Not for the first time, he wished that Hawke were here with him. Over the years, they had fought side-by-side so often that they no longer needed to communicate on the battlefield. They each knew exactly where the other would be at any time, and Hawke’s fighting style was as familiar to Fenris now as his own. Damn it all, he even missed the familiarity of spells crackling by overhead and the distinct feel of them in his lyrium lines that he had come to know as something of a signature, something uniquely and wonderfully Hawke.

Maybe he couldn’t have Hawke backing him up this time, or even any of their other friends, but he wasn’t the only one here with cause to hate the slavers. He would just have to move on to the next part of his plan a little quicker than he’d intended. Swinging himself up into the back of a wagon, he came face to face with a middle-aged elven woman, dirty and terrified, separated from him by iron bars. She gasped, flinching away, and Fenris saw others behind her. The cage had been stuffed full of as many people as it could hold, men, women, and children alike, and everywhere that he looked were wide eyes in haggard faces and fingers clutching desperately at the bars. He couldn’t be sure if any of the prisoners would help him in the fight, if any were even capable of it, but they were his only option. At the very least, releasing them would cause enough chaos to give him a distraction.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quietly. He could hear the shouting of the guards; they were drawing closer. “Stand back, as much as you can.”

Slowly, sharing glances full of confusion and fear, they complied. Once they were all pressed as far back as they could get, Fenris took a deep breath and let the lyrium ignite, ghostly blue racing over his skin to a chorus of gasps. He passed his hand through the lock on the cage, then let it partially solidify. Metal was harder than cloth and skin, but the lyrium could do it, given enough concentration. Gritting his teeth against the buzzing ache racing through his body, Fenris twisted his hand and pulled back as it became substantial again. The lock gave with the shriek of tearing metal. From just outside, the voices and heavy footsteps of the guards were closing in.

“If you can, fight. Help me take everything back from them. If not, try to free some of the others, or stay together and run back down the road, as far and fast as you can. You are not slaves, and you never will be,” he said, pulling the door to the side. For a moment, no one moved, the prisoners blinking at him in shock. Then the elven woman nodded at him and pulled a young boy to his feet, leaping down from the back of the wagon with the child in her arms. It didn’t take long for the rest to follow suit, shoving their way forward and spilling out in confusion onto the dirt.

Fenris slipped from wagon to wagon, trying to free as many as he could before the guards found him again. Elves, humans, and even dwarves of all ages raced out into the sunlight as soon as he’d torn open the cages. The remaining prisoners seemed to have caught on to what was happening, and voices clamored all around him as hands stretched through bars, reaching out for freedom. If nothing else, it was chaotic. None seemed too keen on actually attacking the slavers, but the guards were overwhelmed and torn between trying to subdue the prisoners and chase after the interloper. Some had taken his advice and were trying to break other locks. Most were just fleeing in every direction.

As Fenris leapt down from the back of the latest wagon, a sword slashed past his face. He ducked back and spun out of range, lifting his own sword in a challenge. Standing in front of him was the woman from before, a cold smile on her face and rage in her eyes as she walked towards him.

“I know who you are, little wolf,” she growled. “You think you’re free, think you’re safe just because you were lucky enough to defeat your old master. You never would have managed it without the Champion of Kirkwall there to hold your leash.” At this Fenris snarled and feinted forward, but she danced back and laughed.  
“You’ll never be free, Fenris. Once a slave, always a slave, and all the vengeance and death in the world won’t take those marks from your skin. I’d love to bring you back alive and see the looks on the Magisterium’s faces, but there’s a pretty enough price for just your head.”

She lunged, slashing at him with two quick blows. He parried, forcing her backward again. He knew that she was trying to get in close, to compensate for his weapon’s longer reach and put herself in range. If he could just hold her off, keep her from getting to where she could hit him, the fight would be his. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. She was fast, faster even than he was, and wickedly talented with her blades; she was miles above all of the other slavers that he’d fought, a fully trained warrior that knew how to press her advantages.

Fenris felt the lyrium brands blaze to life again and let himself go incorporeal, planning to try to run through her and then attack from the other side. The trick had worked on more powerful enemies than her. She seemed to expect it, however, jumping to the side and slashing at him as soon as he solidified. It was all he could do to parry her attack and retreat. Frustration welled in his chest; clearly she knew more about him than just the fact that he’d killed Danarius. This woman was a dangerous warrior, and he didn’t have the element of surprise.

He was about to attack again when an arrow flew past his ear. Spinning around, he saw a guard with a bow standing on top of a wagon and already nocking another shot. An archer. That was the last thing he needed.

The woman attacked, trying to take advantage of his distraction, and he jumped away from her. Desperate for some kind of cover, he raced around the other side of the wagon, away from the woman and the archer. He ducked behind another cart, listening to arrows hit the dirt where he’d been just moments ago. The woman was laughing, calling for him, goading him to come back out and fight; he gritted his teeth. Giving in to her taunts would do him no good, not now. With the archer guarding her, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Screams went up from somewhere nearby. He whipped his head around to look, but couldn’t see anything - then the distinct smell of smoke drifted past him on the breeze. Fenris saw red. He remembered hearing about this. Whenever slavers knew they were going to lose prisoners, they would try to kill them before they could escape. They would rather have them dead than not at all, and the most popular method was to burn the wagons down with prisoners still inside.

He raced out from behind the wagon, blocking an arrow with his sword and charging back into the fray. All around him, acrid black smoke billowed into the sky, staining the clouds and choking the air. The fire was spreading. Most of the wagons were clear, but there were several still locked and full of people. Some of those that he’d rescued were still trying to free them, but as he watched, guards surrounded them. It wasn’t even a fight; the prisoners didn’t stand a chance. One human man was trying to break the lock, smashing at it with a large stone that he’d found, and before he could even turn around a guard stabbed him through the back. The rock dropped to the ground, rolling to a stop not far from his limp fingers.

Fenris sidestepped as another arrow shot past him, mind racing. He had to do something. Using the lyrium so often was wearing him down quickly, but it was his only choice; the archer couldn’t hit what wasn’t there. The lyrium glow flashed brightly as his whole body phased out of reality, and an arrow passed right through him. He wasted no time, running straight for the burning wagons.

Everything was a haze after that. Guards fell before him. He leapt from cage to cage, ripping open locks and slaughtering any slavers that tried to stand in his way. Arrows raced past him, but all of them missed. The prisoners began to take notice of him again; when he pulled open the final cage, a cry went up and a knot of them rushed into battle with scavenged weapons against a line of guards.

Fenris joined the fight, tearing through the ranks like a demon. He could feel the toll of the battle and the lyrium weighing him down and slowing his strikes, but he had to see this through. Snarling, he slashed his sword across one man’s chest and turned to attack the next, only to stumble as pain lanced white-hot through his shoulder. An arrow had finally found its mark.

Hissing in pain, Fenris pulled it loose, grimacing as the arrowhead lodged in muscle. His shoulder would barely move. Lifting it even slightly left him in agony, and he cursed under his breath when he realized that it would make wielding his broadsword nearly impossible. He had to finish this quickly.

Smoke rose around him, thick and dark and choking. The wagons he’d managed to break open had been consumed by the flames, and the battle raging around him had become a blur of heaving shapes indistinct in the sudden gloom. Shouts rang out from all sides, punctated by the hiss of arrows and sharp ring of clashing steel. Nothing about it was making sense anymore. Even the familiar patterns he would normally be able to follow seemed like half remembered flashes of a fever dream, and the world was beginning to sway. With a stab of fear, he realized that the arrow had been poisoned. That, combined with the exhaustion from pushing the lyrium brands too far… he wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. Blood was beginning to run down his arm, and every movement was accompanied by sharp twinges of pain; he squinted into the smoke, searching for the archer in the chaos.

There. One wagon yet untouched by the flames stood alone a good twenty yards from him, and a shadowy figure knelt on top of it with his next arrow nocked. Fenris crept towards him, edging around the wagon and forcing the lyrium glow dormant. His only chance was to take him by surprise.

He almost managed to pull it off perfectly. Waiting until the archer had fired off his latest shot, he crouched low and kicked off as hard as he could, catching the top of the wagon and hauling himself up with his good arm, muscles screaming in protest. He rolled to his feet on the roof, sweeping his sword forward. The archer stumbled away from him with a yelp, fumbling for a dagger at his belt. Fenris was momentarily reminded of the boy from the woods; he shook the thought from his head as soon as it rose. This was no scrawny, fearful, would-be pickpocket. This was a soldier, a slaver, one that had already shot him once and would not hesitate to do so again.

His first lunge was short and clumsy, pain rocketing down from his wounded shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the hilt as best he could in one hand and swung forward again, managing to connect despite the awkward balance. The dagger flew from the archer’s hand, vanishing into the smoke. Fenris stepped forward, pressing him back against the edge, and was just about to lunge again when several things went wrong at once.

Without any other weapons, the archer reached behind to grab an arrow from his quiver. He ducked in close, trying to jab the wicked iron point into Fenris’s exposed neck; Fenris jumped back, raising an arm instinctively to cover his face. The arrow glanced off his armor and lodged in his bicep where it was already slick with blood from the earlier wound. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he swayed in place, stopping himself from tumbling over the edge with sheer force of will. The archer pulled back an arm to attack him again, but there was a half-familiar crackle of energy in the air around him and suddenly he was falling, looking dumbstruck as lightning wreathed his body. He disappeared into the smoke, but Fenris could hear the dull thud as he hit the ground. His first, half-delirious thought was Hawke. His second was unfamiliar mages, and an old feeling of dread raced up his spine.

He slid down off the wagon, landing in a stumble as the ground swayed dangerously beneath him. Whatever had been on the tip of the arrow was working quickly, leaving him dizzy and confused. He could barely feel his fingers around the hilt of his sword. The point of it dragged in the dust as he took a few steps forward, unsure if the figures darting through the smoke up ahead of him were enemies or not. One leapt back and forth, weaving almost effortlessly around another while a third stood back, magic humming around them.

As he got closer, he could see that the figure under attack was the woman from before. She was hard pressed to defend herself against the relentless flurry of attacks from an elven girl and bolts of flame from the mage - he still couldn’t see clearly, but firelight glinted gold off of short blond hair.

The woman glanced around wildly, eyes settling on Fenris and narrowing in fury. She slashed at the girl with both blades, knocking her back before turning on him.

“You! You’ve ruined everything! Your head will be my last prize, wolf, and you’ll die alone for slaves that won’t even know your name!” She lunged, but Fenris managed to drag his sword up in time to catch the blow.

“They aren’t slaves. And now they never will be,” he rasped, putting the last of his strength into a blow that glanced off her shoulder. It wasn’t enough to get through her armor, but it pushed her off balance and away from him, which was all the mage needed. Lightning flashed in front of him, crashing through the woman in a blaze of white light. Fenris’s knees gave out, and he fell to the ground as she screamed. Everything was numb, but not enough that he couldn’t feel the pain stabbing through every nerve in his body. The world spun and dipped around him as his eyes began to close, and the last thing that he saw was the woman collapsing in a heap, smoke curling off her skin and sparks still flashing along her swords where they lay abandoned in the dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sorry for the cliffhanger.  
> thanks for reading, and i hope y'all liked this one! it gave me a lot of trouble but it's finally done, and thanks as always to @knightriley on tumblr for being a wonderful beta reader and to ella for reading a story for a fandom she's not in to reassure me that it did in fact make sense. as always, follow me on tumblr @shadow-kid-cole for dragon age ramblings and occasional updates. hopefully the third chapter will be up soon - you'll get to meet some new friends alongside fenris. comments are always always appreciated, and thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris makes new friends.

Fenris’s dreams were dark and confusing.  They twisted and shifted between different moments, showing him the burning sands outside of Minrathous one second and the leering face of Knight-Commander Meredith the next.  He spun through time, disconnected and untethered from reality with his surroundings as wispy and insubstantial as smoke. Cold laughter rang around him as he poured wine for Danarius’s guests.  Hawke laid a hand on his shoulder after a particularly difficult battle, tired and covered in blood but still grinning like the whole world was a wonderful joke. He sat on the branch of tree high off the forest floor in the wild depths of Seheron, watching the rain roll in off the sea as the fog warriors laughed around a campfire.  A different storm lashed the windows of the Hanged Man as everyone crowded around the largest table in the tavern, drunken clamor growing with every hand of wicked grace.

 

Eventually, he found himself sitting in a makeshift campsite on the Wounded Coast, listening to Hawke and Varric argue good-naturedly while Isabela refereed (or claimed to, at least - he was fairly sure that her running commentary was doing nothing to help).  He couldn’t quite grasp the focus of the conversation. The meaning of the words floated just at the edge of his consciousness, and he raised an eyebrow as Hawke gestured dramatically to make a point and Varric laughed before responding. He focused harder on the argument, but even once he began to register what was being said, it didn’t make much sense.

 

“-and I told you, you shouldn’t have tried to move him!”  Varric’s voice didn’t quite sound right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

 

“Oh, sure, let’s leave the man who just saved our lives dying on the side of the road!  Nothing quite says gratitude like it, right?” Hawke’s voice was definitely wrong too; it almost sounded… feminine?

 

“You know that’s not what I meant.  If you had just taken a second to think for once, we could have figured out a better way to do it, one that didn’t make everything worse.  Your impulsivity could have killed him.”

 

“But did it?”  Varric didn’t seem to have a reply to that.  The whole thing was starting to swirl apart, the figures of his friends fading and the coastline dissolving into grey mist.  The voice that had come from Hawke continued to speak as if from a great distance. “You still managed to heal him. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer against that poison and you know it.  I did what I had to do and we saved his life, isn’t that enough for you?”

 

“Yes, I saved his life, no thanks to you.”

 

“Really?”

 

Fenris was slowly becoming aware of a stabbing pain that seemed to originate behind his eyes and send pinpricks down every nerve in his body.  There was a dull ache in his right arm, and it bloomed into a fiery throb when he tried to move it. He groaned at the sting, and the conversation suddenly stopped until the man’s voice came again.

 

“I think he’s waking up.”

 

“You don’t say.”

 

“There’s no need for that, Lir, I was starting to worry that he wouldn’t.”

 

“Oh, right, you thought my unforgivable panic-fueled impulse in the face of a life-or-death battle had killed him.”

 

“Would you stop!”

 

The argument reminded Fenris of Hawke and Carver and their incessant bickering on every job for those first few months, before Hawke had left him behind to go to the deep roads and they’d returned to find him a templar.  He tried to open his eyes, only to shut them again with another groan as sunlight seared his vision.

 

“Hey, are you alright?”  Fenris tilted his head away from the light, blinking at the face that loomed above him.  It was a girl, no more than eighteen, with short brown hair braided back on one side and a scattering of freckles on her tan skin.  Large green eyes shot through with brown watched him, concern and curiosity chasing each other through her gaze. A small silver hoop glinted in the light where it hung from one pointed ear.  He was sure he didn’t know her, but she looked familiar - wait. She was the one who had been fighting the slaver woman when he’d found her for the last time.

 

Something of his confusion must have shown in his face, because there was an impatient sigh from just behind her.

 

“By the creators, Alirya, give him some space.”  The girl frowned, turning a glare on someone he couldn’t see, but she backed up anyway.

 

Fenris started to sit up, but the pain that shot through every muscle he tried to move told him that wasn’t the best idea.  He did it anyway, ignoring the alarm in the other voice as it said “Hey, wait, maybe you should take it easy…”

 

He was sitting on the dirt floor of a small cave, the trickle of water echoing quietly from somewhere near the back.  A tiny fire was beginning to die near his feet, embers glowing under a frame of sticks with something roasting on the top.  The sun was low on the horizon. He squinted against it, raising his good hand to shield his eyes.

 

“Where am I?” he asked.  His voice was raspy, and talking seemed to scrape painfully at his dry throat.  He could see the owner of the other voice now, and he tensed at the half-familiar glint of pale blond hair.  This was the mage that had been fighting alongside her. He was an elf as well, perhaps slightly older, and they looked similar enough that Fenris was almost positive they were siblings.  Light brown skin, green eyes, freckles, slender but prominent jawlines, and a slightly upturned nose - the only difference between them was the hair and a certain softness around the mage’s eyes where the girl’s were sharper.

 

“Not far from the wreckage,” the girl answered.  “A little further up into the mountains; nothing’s bothered us here so far.  You’ve been out for a couple of days. You can thank Irilen here for waking up at all.”  Fenris’s head spun. Days? The poison must have been stronger than he’d realized. He raised an eyebrow at the mage, who waved shyly.

 

“You were in bad shape at the end of that fight.  I was afraid that moving you up here had made things worse, but we managed to get you stable in the end.  Took almost everything I know about antidotes and healing magic, though.” A familiar prickle of annoyance ran through Fenris’s mind; he’d grown used to healing magic over time, and had a grudging respect for its power, but he still preferred to avoid it if possible.  Still, he couldn’t really complain. He’d likely be dead without its help. He nodded at Irilen, then turned back to the girl.

 

“I should thank you both for your help in that fight.  I doubt that I would have survived had I tried to finish it alone.  Who are you, and where did you come from?” They glanced at each other, and the girl stared at the ground as she answered.

 

“My name is Alirya, and this is my brother, Irilen.  We belong to Clan Talirae, though it’s been a long time since we saw our family last.  Those slavers… they caught us while we were scouting ahead for our Keeper, looking for the best routes the clan could take.  They held us at a camp further south for weeks. Honestly, I’m not even sure anymore how long it’s been. I’d lost track of time stuck in that caravan before you freed us.”  Her voice was soft and a bit sad, and Fenris could hear a familiar hopelessness in it. She had expected to die a slave in the hands of some Tevene noble family.

 

“We can’t thank you enough for saving us,”  Irilen started. “We don’t know where our clan is now - it’s been so long that we don’t even know where to look.  But it’s because of you that we have our freedom, and we have a chance to find them again. I thought I never would.  You’re a hero.” Fenris wasn’t sure how to respond. He’s been called many things throughout his life, but hero was never one of them.  The thought almost irritated him, but he couldn’t quite place why.

 

“I did it to rid the world of a few slavers, nothing more.” he said, aware of a bite to his tone.  Irilen looked taken aback, but Alirya shrugged.

 

“Still, you probably saved our lives, plus the lives of all those other people they’d taken.  That’s something to be proud of. Without you, we’d all be on our way to Tevinter right now. You made a difference for a lot of people, whether you meant to or not.” she said.  Fenris considered her for a moment; the idea that he was some sort of renegade hero was beyond strange, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst thing he could be.

 

“But who are you, exactly?”  Irilen asked. “We still don’t know your name.  And those markings… that’s pure lyrium. I’ve never seen anything like it.”  Alirya nodded.

 

“Who are you that you decided to try to take on an entire caravan completely alone?” she asked.  Fenris regarded them coolly. He didn’t particularly want to divulge his entire story to two Dalish teenagers that he’d never met before, but they had saved his life.  He supposed that he at least owed them that much.

 

“My name is Fenris.  I was once a slave in the Imperium, owned by a powerful magister by the name of Danarius.  He burned these marks into me, as a source of power and an attempt to create a unbeatable bodyguard.  They give me unique abilities, but the cost was high.” He gave them a condensed version of everything that had happened since his escape, explaining his lack of memories, his flight to Kirkwall, and his time in the city with Hawke and the others.  When he told them how he’d killed Danarius, Alirya grinned in satisfaction. Irilen looked mildly disturbed, but nodded when she said that he’d deserved nothing less.

 

There were several beats of quiet once he was finished.  Alirya and Irilen just stared at him, wonder on their faces as they tried to process his whole story.

 

“You knew the Champion of Kirkwall?”  Alirya finally asked, breaking the silence with an almost reverent whisper.  Fenris couldn’t help but laugh a little at her expression - she spoke of Hawke, the most reckless and bumbling idiot he’d ever met, like some sort of warrior god.  That was likely Varric’s fault, embellishing all of their stories as he had. If only people knew how improvised most of their escapades had been, how many close calls they’d had because Hawke couldn’t be bothered to make a plan before rushing straight in…

 

“Yes, I know him,” he said, a hint of a fond smile playing around the corners of his lips.  “Were I you, I wouldn’t believe every story I hear about him. The truth is often more colorful anyway.”

 

“But… but people say that he’s dead! Or that he’s fled somewhere that the Chantry can’t catch him, Rivain or the Anderfels or even across the sea.  No one has seen him in months.” Irilen said, leaning forward on his elbows.

 

“Hardly anything so exotic,” Fenris snorted. “We made it to Ferelden and stayed there.  No one found us because we did not wish to be found.”

 

Alirya shook her head with a smile.

 

“Amazing.  All of those stories, the famed Champion of Kirkwall - and you were there!” she said.

 

“Careful, Lir, don’t start drooling.” Irilen said, nudging her with his shoulder.  She smacked the back of his head in response, and he ducked away from her, laughing.  They were so comfortable, so easy, and Fenris’s mind drifted unbidden to Varania. He wondered if they had ever been so close as children.  The thought stung, and he shoved it away. There was nothing for it now.

 

Teeth gritted against fresh waves of pain, he sat up further, moving to try to stand.  Irilen scrambled forward in alarm, already starting to protest. Fenris knocked his outstretched hand away.  With difficulty, he managed to make it to his feet. Whether or not he could stay there for long remained to be seen; he swayed a little as dizziness clouded his head.

 

“What are you doing?”  Alirya asked, moving to his other side.  There was genuine concern in her voice.

 

“I appreciate all that the two of you have done for me, but I need to move on.”  She was already shaking her head almost before he’d finished the sentence.

 

“No, you absolutely do not!  You’re in no shape to be going anywhere.  Besides, where are you planning to go? That camp of theirs?  We already took care of it. The caravan is a few piles of ash on the road.  The slavers are dead. There’s nothing to worry about.” she said. That was enough to give him pause.  These two had cleared out the entire camp alone? He’d already seen that they were capable in a fight, but he hadn’t expected that.  Still…

 

“There is always something to worry about,” he said, spotting his sword lying on the ground not far from him and picking it up gingerly, frowning at the blood dried onto the blade.  “There will always be more of them. I cannot sit here cowering in a dark hole in the ground while they roam free.”

 

“You can if you were on the brink of death two days ago!”  Irilen said incredulously. “You can barely walk, how do you plan to fight?”  Fenris shrugged him off again, taking a step forward - and his knees almost buckled when his head throbbed at the impact.  He steadied himself on the rough stone wall of the cave while the world spun around him, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Fenris growled in frustration.  The thought of staying here and trading stories with strangers while hiding in the shadows instead of doing what he’d set out to do made his skin crawl.  If he wasn’t going to hunt down slavers, he might as well have just stayed in that cabin in the mountains and waited for Hawke to return. Part of his mind whispered that he wasn’t being fair to himself; this wasn’t his fault.  But a larger part, the one that contained the survival instincts he’d honed on the run and and his need to keep moving before everything caught up to him, screamed at him to go, no matter the consequences.

 

“Fenris?”  Irilen asked tentatively.  He sounded almost frightened.  Fenris opened his eyes to see his startled, pale face cast in a blue glow; the lyrium had ignited in his agitation.  He’d thought he was better at keeping it under control after all this time.

 

Sighing in defeat, he forced himself to relax.  The lyrium brands dimmed slowly, the glow fading with every breath he took until it was gone.  Both of the siblings were staring at him with awe and trepidation, and for a moment, silence hung heavy in the air again.  Fenris knew when he was beaten. He slid back to the ground, wincing when his shoulder wound twinged.

 

“Are you alright?”  Alirya asked, all bravado gone from her voice.

 

“What does it look like?”  Fenris snapped. Frustration still ran hot in his veins, and just the idea of trying to continue any sort of conversation with these two right now was tiring.  She sighed impatiently at him, a bit of sharpness creeping back into her expression.

 

“Look, I know that you want to go after them.  So do we. But we’re trying to help you; at least give yourself a few more days.  You can’t even walk right now, you’d be dead out there within the hour. And when you do leave…”  She trailed off for a moment, then looked him directly in the eyes, lifting her chin defiantly. “We’re going with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone teach fenris how to take care of himself istg  
> it's been a hot minute since the last update, sorry about that! school started up again, and in trying to get back into the swing of things, it's hard to balance everything in my life. hopefully the next one won't take too long - i'm going to start aiming to have one up every week, but we'll see how that goes. i hope this chapter was worth the wait, and i hope y'all like the new characters! they've been in the works for a while and i adore them, and i hope that i'll get the chance to take their character development to new places too.  
> as always, thanks to my wonderful beta, @knightriley on tumblr, and you can follow my dragon age blog there @shadow-kid-cole. comments help me a lot with both future editing and confidence, so please please leave one if you enjoyed it! thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which decisions are made.

“Absolutely not.” Fenris had long since lost count of how many times he’d said some variation of these words in the last hour. Across from him, Alirya folded her arms and stared him down.

 

“And what exactly do you plan to do by yourself? Wander into another camp and get yourself killed? Because that’s what’s going to happen,” she said.

 

“I do not need your help.” Fenris gritted his teeth. “If I wanted allies, I would be perfectly capable of finding them myself. I do not intend to rely on a pair of naive strangers to back me up.”

 

“Irilen and I are perfectly capable,” she cut in. “We might not have much experience in battle, but I was trained as a hunter. I know how to fight. Irilen specializes in healing magic, but he’s learning-”

 

“Neither of you are warriors,” Fenris interrupted. “You’re a pair of barely-trained children, nothing more. And as I said, I do not need help, much less yours.”

 

Irilen threw up his hands. “You almost died! You just spent two days unconscious! You can’t seriously expect to just charge off into battle again right after that, especially without help!”

 

Alirya spoke almost simultaneously, her tone fierce. “And yet we managed to kill every last slaver in that camp of theirs up the road! I think that more than speaks for what we’re capable of!”

 

“I appreciate all that you have done, but I will remain here to heal for a few more days, and then I will be moving on. Alone. Your prowess does not matter. I am not in the market for companions.” Fenris glared at the two of them, hoping that would be the end of it.

 

He was learning, however, that these two were not easily swayed.

 

“Look,” Irilen started, “You saved our lives, whether that was your intention or not. Now you’re injured and unfit to be going anywhere. We don’t know where our clan is. It could take us months to find them. And you’re not the only one here with reasons to hate slavers.” He paused for a moment and looked down, twisting his fingers nervously. “I’ll admit, I might not be the best in a fight. But right now, you need all the help you can get, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. If we go with you, we can help you track them down and fight. We’re scouts; tracking is what we’re good at. Even if it’s only for a little while. Once you’ve healed and we’ve found our clan, we can go our separate ways.”

 

Frustration clawed at Fenris’ chest, though some small part of him knew that Irilen’s words made sense. The fiery throb of pain echoing through his shoulder and arm hadn’t lessened. He was more badly injured than he’d been a long time. Still, their insistence was infuriating. His head still hurt, and this conversation was doing nothing to help.

 

“The answer is still no,” he growled.

 

At that, Alirya snorted. “I’d like to see you try to stop us.”

 

Possible retorts were hot on the tip of Fenris’ tongue, but he bit them back with an impatient sigh. “I will not keep entertaining this,” he said. “Do whatever you wish. I will not be held responsible for whatever happens should you try to follow me.”

 

“Is that a threat?”

 

“No. Would you like for it to be?”

 

“That’s enough!” Irilen cried, looking back and forth between the two of them. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

 

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Fenris muttered.

 

Irilen frowned at him. “Just… we can worry about this tomorrow. It’s getting late, and you need to rest.”

 

“My answer will not have changed by morning.”

 

Alirya looked at him with the gleam of a challenge in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

 

~

 

When Fenris awoke the next morning, he almost thought that he was in a different place. A quick glance told him that no, it was the same small cave, but there were crates lining the walls and a small box lying open next to the crackling fire, full to the brim with gold. The siblings were nowhere to be found. There was, however, a small loaf of brown bread sitting on a cloth not far from where he’d been lying. He took it cautiously, hauling himself up until he was sitting and noting that it didn’t make the world sway quite as much as it had yesterday. A dull throb of pain remained at the base of his skull, however, and he squeezed his eyes shut against it until it dissipated.

 

Once he determined that he could move without excruciating pain, he peered over the edge of the nearest crate. It appeared that neat rolls of cloth were stacked inside; he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. The next crate held rations of food - dried meats, hard cheese, the kind of bread that was more likely to break your teeth than anything else. That made slightly more sense, but didn’t lessen his confusion. Where had all of this come from?

 

“Admiring the spoils?” The voice came from the entrance to the cave as a shadow fell across it; Fenris tensed for a moment, then realized with a flash of irritation that it was already a familiar sound. Alirya ducked through the entrance, a longbow that she didn’t have yesterday slung across her back and several dead rabbits in hand. Seeing his expression, she shrugged and held them up. “I mean, the rations are all well and good, but I always prefer something fresh.”

 

“What… is all of this?” Fenris asked, voice scratching at his dry throat. She tossed him a waterskin, a grin playing around the edges of her mouth.

 

“Told you we took down that camp by ourselves, didn’t we? We’ve been up for hours, taking everything we can carry. It’s not far, maybe a mile down the hillside.”

 

Some part of Fenris hadn’t really believed that these two had cleared the camp. Sitting here now, surrounded by crates stamped with insignias that he was slowly recognizing as Tevinter designs, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered that perhaps he’d underestimated these two after all.  _ I still don’t need them tagging along with me _ , he told it firmly. _ They’re unknowns, unpredictable. There is no guarantee that they won’t get in my way. _

 

“There’s weapons and whatnot if you want them, too,” Alirya said, dragging him out of his thoughts. “‘course, that sword of yours is fancy; probably way better than all of this standard-issue garbage. It’s better than nothing, though.”

 

Unsure how to reply to that, Fenris settled for a slow nod. His head was spinning. He took a sip of water and closed his eyes, trying to will the feeling away.

 

“Are you alright?” Alirya asked, her voice a bit softer.

 

“Fine,” he mumbled. His mind felt unusually slow this morning - no doubt he had the injury and any lingering poison in his system to thank for that, but it still put him on edge. Physical problems he could handle. There was nothing he could do about this except wait it out.

 

“Irilen should be back soon. He went to look for more ingredients for an antidote, I think.”

 

“I… appreciate it.”

 

“Hey, tell him that, not me.” She paused in her skinning of the rabbits on the other side of the fire, looking up at him. “Also… I’m sorry that things got so heated yesterday. It’s been a long few days, to say the least. We were worried that you weren’t going to make it, and then when you just tried to get up and leave as soon as you woke up…”

 

Fenris sighed. Now that she said it, it did seem rather foolish. “I apologize as well. I am truly grateful for all that the two of you have done. Inaction does not sit well with me.”

 

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” she teased, a smile slipping back into place. It was casual and easy, and he found himself reminded of Kirkwall again, of Hawke and all the others and the banter that flowed back and forth without effort. He shook his head. That was long gone, now.

 

~

 

Days passed in the cave, and the pain in Fenris’ shoulder subsided slowly. By the third day, he could stand and walk without without a splitting headache. By the fifth, he’d begun to leave the cave during the day. Irilen insisted that he should be resting as much as possible, but he could only stand being holed up in the dark for so long. He never went far, anyway.

 

His shoulder still protested with every movement, but Irilen said that it was mending well, at least on the surface. The muscle beneath would take much longer to heal.

 

After nearly two weeks, he brought his sword out into the small clearing in front of the cave. Moving through practice forms earned him an ache that returned with a vengeance, and a scolding from Irilen that he thoroughly ignored. He didn’t dislike Irilen; as far as mages went, he was cautious and considerate. All the same, he was a mage. A lifetime of justified distrust didn’t vanish in the face of a little kindness. He had a grudging respect for his healing abilities, but he’d seen him practice other spells. He got the feeling that he was more powerful than he let on, perhaps even more than he knew.

 

On the other hand, the more time he spent around Alirya, the more he enjoyed her presence - not that he would ever tell her as much. She was still irritating and hot-headed, and could flip from annoyingly cheerful to furious in seconds. But she was quick-witted and sharp, and handled her daggers with an ease that could probably give Isabela a run for her money. She could almost disappear into the shadows when she wanted to, so long as she wasn’t talking.

 

Both of them spent every spare moment outside, doing whatever they felt like and exploring the forested hillsides around the cave. Fenris could understand that much; after so long trapped in cages when they were used to the freedom to wander, they deserved this much. They bickered almost constantly, but it never seemed serious. Playful insults were tossed back and forth across the fire nearly every night. It sometimes ended in a scuffle, but it was almost always filled with laughter. At one point, he caught himself smiling as he watched them debate enthusiastically over who had gotten the most kills at the camp (Alirya insisted that she’d done three-quarters of the work compared to Irilen’s lack of fighting skill; he countered that perhaps he wasn’t much of a fighter, but he at least knew how to set things on fire,) and thought to himself that the two of them would have been right at home amongst the fog warriors on Seheron.

 

The more time passed, the louder the voice in the back of his mind telling him to bring them along once he’d healed became. He continued to resolutely ignore it. The last thing that he needed was to be responsible for a pair of children. If the caravan proved anything, he was barely responsible for himself without Hawke around.

 

Alirya tried several more times to bring up the subject of traveling together. Fenris did all he could to shut her down. Even so, he realized halfway through the third week that the two of them had begun to discuss the future like it had already been decided that they were going with him. There was no avoiding it any longer a few days later, when Irilen inspected his shoulder and told him with a smile that he was probably fit for travel again, so long as he avoided using his shoulder as much as possible. The siblings immediately started making plans, sorting through the veritable treasure trove that they’d taken from the camp and deciding what to bring.

 

Fenris stopped them, and thanked them again for all of their help. He told them on no uncertain terms that his answer hadn’t changed. He would leave the next day, and he fully intended to leave alone.

 

~

  
  


It was a beautiful day.  The air was cool and dry, a light breeze whispering through the long grass.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the deep blue was endless and tranquil without the breach to mar it.  The trees on the mountains were beginning to change color, russet-red leaves drifting slowly to the ground.  Fenris scowled at all of it.

 

From just behind him, a constant stream of mindless conversation gave way to a sudden exclamation.

 

“Oh! Look!”  He turned with a sigh to see Alirya pointing at a nearby tree, practically glowing with excitement.  Following her gaze, he could see a large shape perched on a branch; it shifted, and suddenly the biggest hawk he’d ever seen spread its wings and took off with a piercing cry.  Both of the siblings watched it disappear into the horizon, enraptured. Fenris rolled his eyes and kept walking.

 

Ever since they had finally left the cave a few hours before, he’d regretted allowing them to talk him into this more and more every minute. Their boundless energy was nothing short of exhausting.

 

He had tried to convince them to just let him leave, but they were stubborn, Alirya in particular. She wouldn’t take no for an answer no matter how many times Fenris gave it. Now here he was, several days later, with both of them trailing along behind him.  He’d started to pass the time by making half-hearted plans to lose them in the woods.

 

Blatantly ignoring his efforts to ignore her, Alirya caught up to him a few seconds later.

 

“I’ve never traveled with anyone outside of the clan before.  It’s exciting, isn’t it? I mean, we could go anywhere!” Her cheerfulness reminded him of another elven girl, full of the same limitless enthusiasm - perhaps it was a Dalish thing.  The comparison did nothing to improve his mood, and he just sighed again in response, quickening his pace. Alirya turned back to her brother.

 

“Hey, did you hear that, Len?  I got a long-suffering sigh instead of a cutting remark this time!  I think we’re growing on him.”

 

“Like a weed.”

 

“There it is,”  Irilen said with a laugh.  Fenris ignored him.

 

“So where are we going, again?”  Alirya asked, hurrying forward to catch up with him again.

 

“West.”

 

She frowned.  “Like into Orlais west?  We’ll have to cross the mountains to get there.”

 

“Well, if you’d rather not, you can always stay behind.  A terrible loss to not have you at my back, certainly, but I’m sure that I’ll manage,” he shot back.  She rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah, no.  You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

 

“It was worth a try.” 

 

On Fenris’s other side, Irilen shook his head, but a smile played around the corners of his lips.

 

“You still haven’t really told us what’s west.  Where exactly we’re going, what we’re facing, that sort of thing,” he said.

 

Fenris sighed impatiently. “That would be because I don’t know.  I have heard rumors of the Venatori and their slavers gathering in the western deserts of Orlais.  That seems like the next logical place to go - cut the head off the snake, as it were.”

 

“So we’re going into a situation we know nothing about based on rumor alone,”  Alirya said, deadpan.

 

“Once again, if you’re unhappy with it, you are free to leave.”

 

She snorted. “Yeah, like I’m gonna leave you to face that alone.  We’ve already saved your life once, I don’t want to see that go to waste.  I’ve got a vested interest in keeping you alive now, so we go where you go.”

 

“I am not an investment,” he said, almost affronted.

 

Alirya laughed.  “You are now. Probably the best one I’ve ever made, so you can understand why I don’t want you charging off into the ether, never to be seen again.  Lucky you, you’re stuck with us unless you can outrun me. And in that heavy armor…” she trailed off with a wicked grin, and Fenris sighed once more. He was no longer sure whether their prowess in battle was worth all of this, though he supposed it wasn’t up to him anyway.

 

Part of the banter was endearing, if he was being honest (though he would never tell them that.)  It reminded him yet again of all those years in Kirkwall, countless journeys just like this one down roads that all seemed to blur together in his memory.  Surrounded by friends, tossing quips back and forth until they all dissolved into laughter…

 

Fenris shook his head and quickened his pace.  There was no time for losing himself to memory now.  Kirkwall was long behind him, and just because these two reminded him of his former companions didn’t mean that they would fill the same space.  He couldn’t assume that this would last - he didn’t want it to. He worked best alone. Even after so long with Hawke, the routine of solitude had been easy to slip back into.  Besides, if he was going to have backup, he could certainly do better than a pair of barely-trained Dalish teenagers. He would let them stay for now, at least until he was fully healed.  Then they’d find out just how fast he could run.

 

In the meantime, it was going to be a very long journey.

  
  


~

  
  


The sun had long since set by the time they made camp for the night.  They found a relatively flat clearing on a hillside, and as soon as Fenris suggested stopping, Alirya and Irilen began to set up with an efficiency that he’d grown used to over the past few weeks.  Without a word, Alirya moved to gather firewood from under the nearby trees. At the same time, Irilen cleared away space for a fire and lined a makeshift pit with smooth stones. Soon, a small but cheerful fire crackled away before them.

Between the three of them, it didn’t take long for everything to come together.  They all traveled light, and none of them needed tents. A soft breeze rustled through the forest around them, making the fire glow brighter and sending sparks spiraling up like they aimed to join the stars far above.  Fenris sat off to one side and looked out over the valley below. They had eaten on the road, so he was perfectly happy to leave Alirya and Irilen to bicker back and forth on the other side of the fire while he did his best to ignore them.

 

As night fell, so too did the quiet.  For once, the siblings were silent, lying on their backs in the soft grass and watching the stars.  It was almost peaceful. Fenris was still watching for danger, of course - he’d be stupid not to, and it was such a habit at this point that he was always subconsciously on edge.  But this was the closest he’d been in a long time to feeling safe.

 

Finally, Alirya broke the silence.

 

“I missed the stars the most when we were trapped in those cages,” she murmured.  Irilen pointed up the sky, tracing a specific pattern against it.

 

“Do you remember what that one’s called?  I always forget,” he said.

 

“Really?  That’s one of my favorites,” Alirya started. “See how the brighter ones wind to the north?  They call it  _ abelas viran _ , the path of sorrow.  Apparently, the last true elves of the Dales saw it when they were driven north, and it became something of a symbol to them.  Some think that it’s sad; it let them know where they’d been forced to go, and stood for a home they could never get back to. But I think it’s almost hopeful - the southern end will lead you directly to the Dales.  At least they’d never forget which way home was, even if they couldn’t return.”

 

Fenris was about to tune them out - he had no interest in flowery Dalish tales - but as he glanced up where Alirya was pointing, he realized with a start that he recognized the constellation.

 

“I’ve heard that one called by a different name,” he said, almost to himself.  Both of them turned to look at him, and he sighed at the curiosity in their eyes.  “In Tevinter, it’s known simply as ‘the road.’ Those in power claim that it represents the strong northward growth of the empire, but the slaves know it as the connection to the rest of the world in the south.  Any not born there were brought along the northern road to the empire. Whether they see it as hopeful or not, I couldn’t tell you.”

 

Alirya and Irilen were quiet for a moment, considering his words.  High above, the stars gleamed silver, and Fenris wondered absently how many names they’d been given by countless civilizations.  They had all meant something different to the people that saw them, but they remained nothing more than distant lights.

 

“That one there, just beneath the moon, is called  _ revas sahlin _ ,” Alirya said suddenly.  “It means ‘freedom is come.’  Valariel, our clan’s first, told me about it once.  It comes from an ancient story about hunters that had shot down an eagle.  They had no reason to kill it, but they thought that taking down such a noble predator would prove their strength; they sought to best the wild, not live in peace with it.  But Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, saw what they had done and how wrong they were. They were about to kill it in her name, and she was furious. She gave her blessing to the eagle, sending it enough strength to fly, and it escaped, slashing at the hunters’ eyes as it went.  One of them tried to shoot it again, but his arrow flew wide. That’s what the shape is; an eagle in flight, with an arrow just past it.

 

“Andruil cursed the hunters.  They never caught anything again, and even now the Dalish still consider eagles to be sacred to her.  It’s supposed to be good luck if you see one on a hunt. Unless you try to kill it, of course.”

 

“Lerian told me the same story, back when I first started learning from her,” Irilen said softly.  “I wonder how she’s doing now. I hope the clan’s okay.” The conversation died again, this time with a more somber atmosphere settling over the camp like a blanket.  Alirya didn’t answer, but after a moment, she turned to look at Fenris again. The usual light in her eyes was subdued.

 

“Do you know any other names for that one?” she asked.

 

Fenris shook his head.  “No. If there is a name for it in Tevinter or the Free Marches, I do not know it.”  She nodded, turning back to survey the stars.

 

“I’ll take first watch,” she said.  Irilen squeezed her hand reassuringly.  She offered him a small smile, and he returned it before rolling onto his side to sleep.

 

Before silence could creep back into the campsite, Fenris heard her hum a few simple notes in a low, clear voice.  When neither he nor her brother said anything, she began to sing quietly. It sounded like it was supposed to be a lullaby.  In her soft, sad voice, it seemed more like a lament.

 

It was in Elvish; that was all Fenris knew.  Still, he could have sworn that it sounded familiar.  He shook his head, rolling over to face the forest and closing his eyes.  Perhaps he’d heard Merrill sing it once.

 

Sleep claimed him far more quickly than he thought it would.  A day of traveling after waiting to heal had worn him out. As he drifted off, the first of his dreams held great birds swooping through the stars, which glittered unresponsive and nameless even as a thousand lonely songs called to them for help.

  
  


~

  
  


The night passed without incident.  Alirya woke him for his watch, and he spent several uneventful hours watching the moon begin to set before nudging Irilen awake for the last shift.  By the time he opened his eyes again to the feeling of sunlight on his face, the siblings were already awake. Irilen handed him an apple with a smile.  Fenris didn’t return it, but took the apple nonetheless.

 

They broke camp quickly and were on their way before the sun had fully risen.  Alirya and Irilen were mercifully quiet this morning, and Fenris felt marginally more relaxed than he had yesterday.  His still-healing shoulder had stiffened up during the night, however, and he shrugged a few times in an attempt to stretch it out.

 

“Is your shoulder bothering you again?” Irilen asked. “I can try another spell if you’d like.”  Fenris immediately shook his head.

 

“No.  That is not necessary.  I am past the need of your magic now,” he said tersely.  Irilen blinked, looking taken aback, but nodded anyway.

 

“Well, all right.  But let me know if it gets any worse,” he said, falling behind Fenris and back into step with Alirya.  Fenris didn’t answer. As grateful as he was to be alive, magic had touched him far too many times for comfort recently.  That, and travelling with a mage that wasn’t Hawke for the first time in a while had him on edge. Perhaps it was less grating now than it might have been years ago, but he still didn’t like it.

 

As the sun rose and the air grew warmer, they emerged from the trees onto an open, grassy field.  A gentle breeze whispered past them, twisting through the grass and flattening it into shifting shapes. Far in the distance, the mountains dividing Orlais and Ferelden rose in jagged blue peaks tipped with white. A massive bank of white clouds was building to the north; its center was shot through with gray that insinuated that the day would not be so pleasant for long.

 

“Looks like rain,” Alirya said. He didn’t respond, instead waving them on as he started into the field. The grass was nearly up to his hip, but it was soft and didn’t tangle or drag at their ankles.

 

Fenris scanned the horizon constantly as they walked, the siblings talking quietly behind him. He didn’t know what, if anything, lived out here, but there were plenty of places to hide among the grass and the rolling hills, dotted with shrubs and occasional trees. Hawke had always warned him about the bears plaguing this area of Ferelden; granted, a full-grown bear would still be relatively easy to see coming… he hoped.

 

He saw the tents long before their occupants saw him. After nearly an hour, they stumbled across a well-worn dirt road and had only been following it for a short time before Fenris dropped into a crouch and motioned Alirya and Irilen back off the side of the path, into the grass. They followed with no hesitation. Once they were safely hidden again, he peered up over the waving fronds around them to see exactly what he’d thought - a loose circle of Tevinter-style tents several hundred yards away, with two large, empty carts that were unmistakably familiar parked behind them and a thin plume of smoke rising from the center.

 

“Slavers?” Alirya whispered. He nodded, dropping back down to look at the two of them. Irilen’s eyes were wide and nervous, and his knuckles were white on the staff he’d stolen from the slaver camp. Alirya was as tense as a bowstring, daggers already in her hands.

 

Fenris had never thought of himself as much of a leader, but as he thought about the layout of the camp, pieces of a strategy seemed to click easily into place. Advantages they could use, the best spots to strike from, the easiest way to get the drop on them...  It wasn’t until he was already telling the siblings what to do that he realized how much he sounded like Hawke.

 

“We stay low and quiet,” Fenris said, voice hushed. “Alirya, do you see where the grass meets that tree?” She nodded, lifting her chin just enough to see the encampment again. “Sneak around there, and wait for my signal.” Without a word, she crept off through the grass, vanishing almost immediately.

 

He turned to Irilen, who looked even more unsettled without his sister at his side. “Get to the closer wagon, and wait there. Stay out of the fight itself as much as you can. And try not to hit either of us,” he said. Irilen swallowed hard, then nodded. Fenris unsheathed his sword as quietly as possible. Together, they snuck forward.

 

Fenris could hear laughter and conversation as they drew closer. Completely isolated in the middle of the grassland, and they weren’t even trying to watch for danger. His lip curled in contempt. It was a mistake they would pay for.

 

Irilen split off towards the cart while Fenris headed for a gap between two of the tents where several crates were stacked, providing a natural barrier. Crouching low behind them, he peered over to see a heavyset, middle-aged man sitting just feet away with his back to Fenris. He seemed to be in the middle of telling a story. His sword belt lay unbuckled on the ground a few feet away. A mug of ale was clutched in one hand, threatening to spill as he gestured dramatically to make a point. He heard laughter; only a few other voices.

“Careful you don’t lose your drink, Jarrod,” one said. His accent was definitely Tevene. Fenris could just see the edge of his profile around one of the tents, illuminated by the firelight. Another figure walked past, clapping Jarrod on the shoulder as he went. There were perhaps one or two more; it was impossible to tell from here, but a small campsite like this wasn’t even a challenge. Fenris’ shoulder twinged, reminding him that he wasn’t at full fighting strength, but he gritted his teeth against it. Even injured, he doubted that he truly needed backup here.

 

He would take it, all the same.

 

He vaulted over the top of the crates, the slavers looking up at the sound of his armor clanking just in time to see his lyrium brands flare to life, wreathing him in blue light.

 

“Now!” he yelled, swinging his sword around and bringing it down on Jarrod’s head. The poor man didn’t stand a chance. He collapsed, blood already pooling beneath him. Fenris spun to face the next challenger. As he did, he caught sight of another figure approaching from the side. The man raised his sword with a growl, but before Fenris could do anything, he froze. A second later, he collapsed, revealing Alirya standing just behind him with bloodied knives and a fierce light in her eyes. She shot him a quick grin, then leaped towards another slaver, grabbing him from behind and sinking her daggers into his throat.

 

The familiar crackle of magic in the air made the hair on the back of Fenris’ neck stand up; a moment later, the ground under two of the remaining slavers was ablaze with white-hot flames. They screamed, dropping their weapons in a panic as they tried to flee the fire. Smoke rose from their armor, and Fenris threw himself forward, slicing down with his sword as hard as he could. His shoulder groaned in protest, but one of the slavers fell and stayed down. The other backed away from him with wide eyes. Snarling, Fenris reached out with his good arm and let his hand pass directly through the man’s chest. He froze in terror, and Fenris’ fingers curled around his target.

 

As his hand solidified again, he pulled back, tearing the man’s heart from his chest. With a gurgle, he went down. Fenris dropped the heart and whirled to survey the rest of the fight, only to find it over.

 

Irilen was approaching from behind the cart while Alirya nudged the body of a woman in worn, bloodstained leather armor with her toe.

 

“Is it over?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth.

 

“It would seem so, yes,” Fenris replied. All told, there had been five slavers, the bodies of which now lay motionless around the still-burning campfire. They hadn’t even had a chance to put up a fight.  Between the three of them, the battle had lasted no more than a few seconds. It had been remarkably easy, Fenris thought, to slip back into the feeling of fighting alongside others. Young as they were, these two were certainly capable. Perhaps his constant irritation at their expense was worth something, after all.

 

He grimaced as he rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the dull ache that had risen in his muscle again after the strain. Irilen started to say something, concern on his face, but Fenris waved him off before he could speak.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, voice terse and clipped. Irilen bit his lip, but nodded and backed away.

 

“So what now?” he heard Alirya ask. Turning, he found her digging through the pockets of one of the bodies. “There was gold on a few of them, by the way.” She pointed to a small pile of coins on the ground next to her feet; more than a few of them were spattered with flecks of blood. If nothing else, she was certainly efficient.

 

“Just… continue with that. See if you find anything interesting. I will check the tents. Irilen, see if there is anything of note about the carts,” he said. Irilen nodded, seeming eager to be away from the carnage.

 

Fenris used the tip of his sword to nudge aside the canvas flap covering the closest tent. Inside was nothing but a few boxes of rations and scattered pieces of armor. The next two tents were similar; nothing important.

 

When he came to the last one, however, he had barely lifted the opening before a figure lunged at him from inside. He threw up his sword, just managing to catch the edge of a gleaming dagger; there was a piercing screech as the blades clashed. He caught a glimpse of a haggard, wild-eyed man with a thin scar down his face as he leapt back to give himself more space.

 

The man moved to strike again, his face twisted with what looked like fear rather than anger. Before he could get close, Fenris leveled his sword at his throat.

 

“Drop your weapon,” he hissed. The dagger landed in the dirt half a second later. The man’s breath was ragged and quick, and his dark eyes darted back and forth like a cornered animal - which, Fenris supposed, he rather was.

 

“Where did he come from?” He realized that Alirya had moved to stand beside him, crouched low like she was ready for the fight to continue.

 

“Hiding in that last tent. Wait,” he said, holding out a hand when Alirya started forward with her daggers raised. “This could be useful. He may have information.” She stepped back, sheathing her daggers and looking only marginally regretful about it.

 

Fenris turned his attention back to the man. The point of his sword dug into the soft, pale skin just beneath his chin. “You will tell me who you are and what your company was doing here. What were your orders? Who do you serve?”

 

The man gasped slightly at the cold sting against his throat. He held up his hands, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

 

“Why should I tell you anything? If you are who I think you are, you’re just going to kill me anyway.”

 

Fenris gave him a long, measured look. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about apparently being so well known amongst these Tevinter soldiers, but he supposed that he could live with it. If the thought of him frightened them all half so much as it had so far, then it could even be an advantage.

 

“You can either die now, quick and painless. Or I can pull your organs from your body, one by one, and you can die screaming,” he growled.

 

The man looked a bit more shaken at that. “I-we- look, alright, I don’t know much. I just go where I’m told. But things have been all out of sorts lately. We were supposed to get a caravan through here days ago, but they never showed. We’ve gotten no letters from higher up, either. We were planning to wait here for another week or so before we headed out west; those were our last orders, but there’s been all sorts of rumors since about the Inquisition turning the desert upside down looking for us. We didn’t want to walk right into a trap.”

 

“And how well that worked out for you,” Alirya muttered from beside him.

 

“What do you mean, higher up?” Fenris asked. “Who do you answer to?”

 

The man shook his head. “No, no, you’ll not get that from me. I’ve told you enough. I won’t be the one to sell out all the rest.”

 

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

 

Several moments and a hand through his stomach later, he was a bit more amenable to talking.

 

“Th-there’s lots of them, I don’t know the whole web of command! But I-I can give you names!” he stammered.

 

“Then talk.”

 

“Our group is under Errol’s watch. He’s in charge of a few different troops, along with Philoxenus and Celso. They all answer to Lawrence - he coordinates movements and tells us where to go and when. But he’s not the head of it all. Amadeus is above him and the witch Giustina. No one knows much about her; they say she’s involved in all sorts of experiments on the ones that we catch. But Amadeus is second in command.” He held up his hands, looking frantic. “I don’t know who he works for! He never told us. Whoever it is doesn’t leave the Imperium. Amadeus reports to him, and he hands down orders. That’s all I know, I swear it.”

 

“So it’s a whole organization, then. Where can they be found?” Fenris pressed the blade forward a little more. A bead of blood welled around the point of his sword and began to trail down the the man’s neck as he winced.

 

“I don’t know, they don’t tell us those things! Like I said, it’s been weeks since we even heard from anyone. Last I was told, Erroll wasn’t far. They said he’d set up camp at the base of the mountains, but I don’t know where.”

 

Fenris pulled his sword away. “You’ve been exceedingly helpful,” he said. For a moment, relief washed over the man’s face. Then a reflection of blue light flashed in his eyes, and he went limp as Fenris’ fingers closed around his heart.

 

“Well, that was enlightening,” Alirya said after a moment. Fenris turned to look at her and saw Irilen standing just behind her, an odd mix of curiosity and revulsion on his face. It was the same look he always seemed to get when Fenris displayed the gruesome power the lyrium brands gave him; like he was intrigued, but terrified.

 

“Indeed. There’s been a change of plans,” he said, wiping his hand on the grass and sheathing his sword. “From the sound of it, the Inquisition is already involved in Orlais. We track down this Erroll, and decide more once he’s dead. Perhaps he will have more information for us.”

 

Alirya nodded, already moving to check through the man’s pockets. Irilen, however, took a hesitant step closer.

 

“Was it just me, or did he seem to recognize you?” he asked quietly.

 

“I believe he did,” Fenris said. “It would seem that my reputation has spread.”

 

“Is… Is that a good thing?”

 

Fenris watched him for a long moment before answering.

 

“I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me, dropping a new chapter out of fucking nowhere approximately six months after the last one*: sure has been a hot minute huh
> 
> i'm sorry it took me this long to find the motivation to continue with this story - my adhd ass cannot stay focused on one project long enough to finish it Ever but goddamn if i'm not going to try with this one. my interests change at the speed of light so with the combination of school, work, and my life being consumed by d&d, this story kind of fell by the wayside. i promise i'm going to make more of an effort to continue with it, though! i have lots of plans and honestly i just really want to finish something for once in my life. i'm not going to claim that i'll be on any kind of consistent update schedule bc we all know that's not true, but i swear the next one will take significantly less time than six entire months.
> 
> as always, thank you to @knightriley on tumblr for being my ever-patient beta reader! you can follow my dragon age sideblog @shadow-kid-cole on tumblr, or now that everything's going to hell on there, i'm also on twitter (though i don't use it much) @barley_st_band. thank you all for your patience, and thanks for reading!


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